Sleeping With My Sisters

A funny thing happens when I get together with my sisters. Let me rephrase that – a LOT of funny things happen when I get together with my sisters. We had another one of our Super Sister Sleepovers recently and managed to laugh ourselves into a coma again and, I'm not ashamed to admit, we were in bed by 10.

Prior to bed time, however, we opened a bottle of ButterShots! If you've ever tasted butterscotch, I want you to imagine it as liquid candy cascading over ice.  

Of course we were laughing before we drank, and, knowing we had even more ButterShots, PLUS a whole bottle of Moscato (which we never touched) sitting in our hotel room, we drank only water and other safe drinks at dinner where, once again, we laughed throughout – mostly at my baby sister, Kathy. Kathy's nursing escapades are riotous, especially when she doesn't get enough sleep. I recount one of those experiences in my blog, Perils of a Night Shift Nurse. If you've ever been so tired you could barely stand up, you owe it to yourself to read that blog.

Lest you think I am ignoring my middle sister, Cindy, let me assure you that she appears in my blogs occasionally too. For instance, she shares my pain in The Day My Mom Made Cindy and Me Into Chia Pets. True story. I still cringe when I see Chia Pets.

I have previously written about our sleepovers in my embarrassing article about our 1st Super Sister Sleepover adventure (linked). The reason I am embarrassed by it is not because of anything that happened during the sleepover, but because I didn't notice when I published it that I wrote, "new," instead of "knew," in the second paragraph. Shame on me! I should "no" better! (Sorry. Sometimes I can't help myself – obviously.)

But back to our most current sleepover. We discovered something about each other during this sleepover – we all snore! Because I toss and turn all night, my sisters had graciously given me my own bed. Apparently shortly after I fell asleep, which to me seemed to take forever, I was snoring. But I recall before falling asleep that somebody else was snoring.

Anyway, at one point during the night – I didn't learn about these events until morning – Cindy thought Kathy was snoring and used a technique that Cindy used on her husband, Craig, to stop his snoring. She slammed her fists into the mattress repeatedly in an effort to get Kathy to stop snoring. Her method wasn't  working, however, because Kathy continued to snore, while Cindy got more and more agitated with each powerful slam!

Occasionally Cindy and Kathy would awaken and I would hear them giggle or argue (I couldn't tell the difference), but I couldn't hear exactly what they were saying, so I tried to fall back to sleep.

The following morning, when Kathy went to the washroom, Cindy told me that the giggling was about all the snoring that was going on. 

When Cindy went to the bathroom, Kathy wanted me to know about Cindy's sleeping problem – she twitched – a lot – and violently. As a matter of fact, the twitching was so bad, Kathy described the twitching as convulsive spasms. Having just heard from Cindy about her remedy for getting Kathy to stop snoring, I roared with laughter thinking about the violence Cindy used to punch the mattress and how concerned Nurse Kathy was about her sister's spasmodic twitchy medical problem.

The following morning, Mom met us for breakfast, where we all shared a meal and even more laughter. Next year we want to expand our Super Sister Sleepover to include our mom who never had a sister and my daughters, and maybe even the older female granddaughters. I'm buying all of us muzzles – or maybe mufflers.

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Little Sister Saves Big Brother From Scary Robber

As the oldest sibling in a family of three children, I am well aware of the "perceived" hierarchy that exists in families who have more than one child. My younger sister and I frequently picked on our youngest sister by telling her she was adopted (she wasn't) and that aliens, disguised as specks of dust, were following her in the basement ready to kidnap her and take her away to a distant planet.

She claimed she didn't believe us, but we knew she was lying – I mean, we were so obviously superior to her. And like most kids, we always made sure our parents weren't around to hear us taunting her.

Which leads me to...

My daughter-in-law, Michelle, and I were talking earlier today about our shared fear – basements – when she remembered the time her big brother, Mario, woke her from a sound sleep to investigate their scary basement.

Mario was in junior high at the time, three years older than his tiny (even now, she barely hits five feet tall) sister, when he sent her downstairs with a bat and a knife to investigate sounds he heard in the basement (remember – she's afraid of them).

He thought maybe a robber had broken in and he had a plan, so it seems, to save the entire family from the dangerous robber by sending his LITTLE sister downstairs with a bat and a knife.

Michelle's job was to bang on a pole with the bat every ten seconds and to swing the knife around so she could slash the robber in case he crossed her path, which was probably smart of Mario, because at her height, she probably would have cut him in the groin.

If ten seconds passed and Mario didn't hear any more banging, he would know a robber truly was roaming the basement, because when the banging stopped, Mario would know that his little sister was dead – killed by the robber.

Mario's job? To call the cops when the banging stopped.

I can't explain to you why this story cracks me up so much – maybe you have to know these two people to understand the hilarity of the situation, but I really would have loved to have seen this scenario played out in person, so I could have watched mini-Michelle slash and bang and slash and bang and slash and bang (one-two-three…ten – bang) while Mario stood upstairs – phone in hand (probably counting in his head) – ready to call the cops when the banging stopped.

It never occurred to Michelle at the time that maybe her parents were better equipped to deal with potential robbers or sounds emanating from the basement – her big football-playing brother needed her help and she was going to face her fears and protect her family by wielding a knife and banging on a pole.

OK, I need to stop laughing right now and take a breath. But what I really want to do is to send a bat and a knife to Mario so he can save it for his son in case he and his wife ever have a daughter. That way his son's little sister can learn how to protect her family.

Blurry photo of Mario and Michelle was "borrowed" from their sister, Vicki (thanks, Vicki).

Just Down The Road Right Around The Corner

Seems everybody in my family (excluding my son) has a problem with calculating distances. This morning Brittney asked me to accompany her to Audrey's doctor appointment because Brittney had to go to work and she wasn't sure how long the appointment would last.

"Where is it?" I asked her.

"Just follow me," she said.

The reason she wouldn't tell me was because she had previously told me (or so she says) that it was "just down the road" from where her husband played ball.

So we left, drove for several blocks and then she turned around. Oh, I get it, it's a game. OK. I followed her back to the house where she retrieved Audrey's forgotten lunch and backpack. Ah, I get it.

And away we went again.

Mile after mile, with me following behind her, we passed her husband's softball field and drove another mile, and another mile, and another mile. Still driving. Wondering how she might have felt to see my headlights drift slowly away when I ran out of gas.

I started thinking, it's gotta be close, right? It was "just down the road" after all. The ride was beautiful though. The sun was shining. I should have brought a tape recorder (note to self: buy a tape recorder) so I could have WRITTEN A BOOK in the time it took to get "just down the road," which turned out to be TEN MILES past her husband's softball field.

Oh, the memories that surfaced as a result of this morning's trip –

My sisters, Cindy and Kathy, my mother, my sister-friend, Nancy, and I –
A Las Vegas vacation –
Nancy high-fiving every unsuspecting tourist who walked past her –
My sister, Kathy, wanting us to walk to some bar she thought would be fun –
My happiness, because I had "all my sisters with me" AND my son (who was stationed in Camp Pendleton at the time). He had driven up to spend the night with us, driving through Los Angeles fires to get to us.

With the exception of the fires, who could ask for more?

Mom decided not to accompany us on our trip to the bar that was "right around the corner," because Mom discovered that just because you like cable car drinks doesn't mean you have to drink thousands of them, and she was feeling, shall we say, a little queasy. (Smile, Mom.)

So we headed out to a bar that my sister promised was "right around the corner". I want you to know, before I go any further, that I have a bad back, and even when I wear my back brace, walking for even a block causes pain. Walking for several blocks causes excruciating pain.

After a couple of hours, as we were crossing a bridge, I collapsed (we had been walking uphill for quite a while) as my sister sprinted ahead singing and dancing, "it's right around the corner."

"Right around the corner" turned out to be about five miles. I was dying.

After we spent a couple of hours at the bar, and after I got lost looking for a chiropractor, we found each other and took a cab back to the hotel.

And now I'm going on a trip to Florida with my sister, Kathy. I should probably discuss the driving/walking agenda before we leave.

The Difference Between My Sisters and Why One of Them Should Start a Blog

I recently posted a blog at my Writer of Blogs site about a wasp infestation in my car. I sent the story to a bunch of people and got the following responses from my sisters.

I have often thought Cindy should start her own blog for reasons which will soon become apparent. Kathy, on the other hand, not so much. You'll see why. If you agree with me, that my sister Cindy should start a blog, please let me know by commenting if you can (for some reason, even though I have set up my blogs to accept comments, people tell me they can't, but please try anyway – I changed the settings so maybe now they'll work).

Brief background: If you were to ask my sisters and me what we thought about a movie we had just seen, I would give you not only the synopsis, but character composites, information on the backdrop, the setting, vital conversations, and more. In other words, you could have seen the movie in its entirety in the time it took me to describe it to you. Cindy would point out the highlights and leave you begging for more. Kathy would try to describe the entire movie in one word.

To get a sense of what the following emails concern, read THIS FIRST.

By the way, XXX = swear words deleted (they weren't that bad, but I deleted them anyway).

Here is Cindy's response to my spine chilling wasp story:

Ter, your story sent chills down my spine.   Talk about coincidence.   I too had my share of hornet horror recently.  

 

Throughout the past week, Craig had been getting rid of 3-4 hornets in our porch every day.   It reached the point where I wouldn't go out on the porch until Craig had done his "bee due diligence."  This past Tuesday, however, was the worst.   The porch was secure because Craig had drenched it in wasp spray, but evidently the garage was not secure.   Immediately upon opening the door to the garage, I heard a thunderous buzz by my ear.  I quickly closed the door, but it was too late.   An enormous hornet had flown in.   I stood in our back hallway and, honest to God, saw a black missile coming towards me.  At eye level, both of us could see the whites of our eyes.  

 

Craig was at work, so what was I to do?  I panicked.   I literally "hopped" around the house, gasping for breath, yelling "Oh XXX, oh XXX, oh XXX, oh XXX."    I eventually hopped out to the garage, still "oh XXXing," and returned with a can of wasp killer but, of course, the wasp was no longer in sight.  So, I grabbed one of my cats and screamed "FIND IT OR YOU DIE!!!"   Luckily, Patches knew I meant business.  She spotted it on the window in the foyer, but it was too high for me to reach with the wasp killer.   And, Patches is too fat for me to throw at the window.  So, for the next hour, I sat perfectly still on a stair, killer can in hand, and stared at its every move.  Then I saw it go behind the shade.  The shade is transparent so I could still monitor its actions.   I had such a grip on the wasp killer can that I developed a blister on my finger.   For another 45 minutes, the wasp remained behind the shade and I actually thought maybe it didn't know how to get out and maybe, if there is a God, it will simply die of frustration.   But, no, it found it's way out and I again went into hopping and oh XXXing mode. 

 

Since I saw it fly away from the window, I began the search again, but, glancing back at the window, I see a wasp again behind the shade.   At this point, I'm not sure if it's the same wasp, or God forbid, another one, or even if I'm hallucinating, but I have no choice other than to take the spray and just aim and pray.   The spray hits the lower half of the shade, but is obviously less effective because it's not a direct hit on the wasp.   So I spray and spray and spray.   By this time, I am covered in wasp spray.   The shade is sopping wet.   The walls are dripping in spray.   The pictures on the walls, the books on the book shelf and the carpet are drenched.   The wasp is getting weaker.   I spray some more.   My finger with the blister is bleeding, but I don't even notice.   I continue spraying until the can is empty.    The smell is overwhelming, and I'm nearly choking from the fumes.   And, if that wasp hadn't died at that exact moment, I would have thrown the empty can at it.  

 

I'm still not sure there isn't another one lurking around somewhere, but if there is, we can put both your car and my house up for sale.

And now for my sister Kathy's response: I had a wasp in my house last summer.  I vacummed it, trapped it, put it in the closet.  Case closed.

(photo of Cindy, Kathy, and me is VERY OLD as are we)